


we will all fall (except for you and i)

by frostbittenradicals



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: AIDS Crisis (mentioned), Background Relationships, Berlin Wall, Character Study, Cold War, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Infidelity, M/M, POV Second Person, Reagan Era, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostbittenradicals/pseuds/frostbittenradicals
Summary: November 9, 1989, somebody’s watching the TV downstairs in the cantina when the breaking news arrives from Berlin.Second person character study.





	we will all fall (except for you and i)

November 9, 1989, somebody’s watching the TV downstairs in the cantina when the breaking news arrives from Berlin. Shut up, everyone be quiet, they probably say. The news is contagious, jumping up floors and through labs and room to room like a virus until it finally reaches you. Bacterial cultures are left in shakers, lids are returned to petri dishes, microscopes are switched off. Nobody wants to miss this.

Your research is always your first priority, but you know it’s a historic moment too. It actually warrants getting up from your lab bench and draping your long-unwashed coat over the back of your chair before shucking off your gloves, scrubbing your hands, and thundering down the grandiose staircase.

Someone’s shooting off fireworks far but close, such that you can hear the soft pops of the brilliant explosions in the night sky but probably wouldn’t be able to see them behind the immense treeline if you stepped outside.

Sherry won’t remember this, you think, both because she’s three and because she’s at daycare, not in the atrium of the Spencer Mansion in front of the small television. Everyone’s gaping, can’t believe it’s actually happening. What does this mean for you? The target for your virus is beginning to shift, like the first quiet trembles before a landslide.

The Cold War is ending, but you will never be obscure; you’re too brilliant, too invaluable, too much of an asset. Albert will not fade either. You are both immortal.

You dimly wonder who your new target will be ten years from now as Annette reaches for your hand and holds it, some romantic gesture, a sharing of a historic moment. _Your_ eyes are on Wesker, the stony face somehow more interesting than your _wife’s_ bright eyes and relieved smile could ever hope to be. In the periphery of your vision, some of your ex-Soviet colleagues cry and hug. People jockey for the downstairs phone; the winners dial the numbers at record speed.

A bottle of champagne pops behind you, then another. “To Reagan,” a thoroughly Russian voice rises above the crowd.

“To Reagan,” the room full of mostly-democrats echoes, smiles in the words.

Wesker remains silent and raises his glass to his thin lips as everyone else lifts their own in the air. He’s no fan of Reagan. The man wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if the two of you got AIDS and died in your own piss and you both know it.

You won’t, though - you’re both immortal.


End file.
